Ask Me No Questions
by stingrae90
Summary: Tony remembered that Abby had called it a "moas." A Mother of All Secrets. He just hadn't let himself think of how he would handle it when Jeanne discovered his.
1. Shattered Glass

A/N: I realize I'm going to incure the wrath of several readers simply by including Jeanne in this story. I realize several people really, really hate her character. I also realize that some of those people have legitimate arguments. However, that wasn't why I wrote this. I've always been bugged that Tony and Jeanne never had anything approaching a real conversation about what happened between them. That no one even tried to track Jeanne down when she disappeared even though they didn't know at the time she was safe from any further attempts on her life. So, I decided to see what I could pull together to get the idea OUT of my head and let me work on my other stories in peace.

How well this will work at getting the plot-bunnies to leave me alone is yet to be seen, especially since this will turn out to be a few chapters in length...

--

"_You weren't the target. She was."_

"_Maybe she still is."_

"_Take Ziva."_

_Season 5, Episode 1: Bury Your Dead, Gibbs to DiNozzo_

--

Jeanne moved in a daze around her apartment, hardly noticing what she threw into her suitcase, knowing only that she had to get out of town. She had to leave, she couldn't stay. It was too painful.

"_Why did you do this? Tell me what it is I'm supposed to have done."_

"_It's not you."_

A sob tore its way out of her throat despite her best efforts to keep it inside and she sank down next to her bed, an old T-shirt clutched in one hand and her hairbrush in the other.

"Daddy…it's not true, it can't be. Please no…"

"_Why would Tony be investigating you?! Daddy…how, how…how is he even a cop? He said he was a film professor!"_

"_Jeanne…such subterfuges are rather common in my world."_

"_Your world?! Daddy, I don't understand…"_

"_I had hoped you would never have to."_

Using the edge of her bed to lever herself back to her feet, Jeanne scrubbed at her tearing eyes with the back of the hand that held her hairbrush. Haphazardly stuffing the T-shirt into the suitcase on top of an already wrinkled blouse and a rather crumpled looking pair of jeans, she stumbled towards her bathroom. Her dazed mind had half a notion to gather her toothbrush and toothpaste into her overnight bag, but she stalled half-way to the bathroom, her gaze arrested by the site of two framed photos, prominently displayed on her bookshelf.

One held a younger version of herself, laughing and hugging her father, medical diploma in hand, while Rene Benoit smiled indulgently and braced himself to hold his daughter's weight.

The one next to it held a more recent photo, displaying Jeanne and Tony beside a fountain in one of the many parks around the D.C. area, playfully splashing each other. Tony had managed to corral on of their fellow park goers into taking the picture for them.

"_I am an arms dealer, Jeanne. The Naval Criminal Investigative Service is only one of the agencies that would like to see me arrested."_

"_I'm a Federal agent. My name isn't Tony DiNardo. It's Anthony DiNozzo, and I work for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service." _

Jeanne's thoughts ran in circles. She had been lied to and used. The man she had fallen in love with, the man she had thought she might even want to spend the rest of her life with, was nothing more than a mask, a Federal agent playing a role to get at a larger target.

Her father.

Her father, who had always told her to never back down from what you wanted, who had explained to a young child hurting over her mother's departure how very harmful lies were and why they should never be told. Her father: the man who had lived a lie her entire life.

Was anything as she knew it anymore?

She would never remember throwing the hairbrush. All she would remember was the _crash_ as it impacted her bookshelf, knocking both pictures to the floor. Glass cracked and shattered upon impact, scattering over the floor.

The lamplight that bathed her bedroom in a soft glow refracted off of those fragments, alternately highlighting and obscuring the smiling faces of the two most important men in Jeanne's life.

It was appropriate in a way. She didn't really know either of them, did she? She saw only what they had wanted her to see. Good men who knew the value of truth, who knew how much lies destroyed relationships and shattered trust.

Lies that had broken the glass frames of her pictures.

--

"Tony."

He didn't answer her. If he didn't answer, he didn't have to see the concern and reproach in her eyes. If he didn't answer, he could concentrate on the road and reaching Jeanne's apartment as fast as he could.

If he didn't answer her, he didn't have to explain why he had broken the cardinal rule of undercover operations.

_Never, ever, fall in love with your target._

He already knew he'd screwed up. He didn't need Miss Perfect Mossad Agent David to rub his nose in it.

"Tony."

Zipping a sharp left in a manner more reminiscent of Gibbs' driving than his own, Tony continued to ignore his partner in favor of navigating the streets of urban D.C., heading for Jeanne's apartment at well over the posted speed limit.

Should he be grateful the local cops already knew to avoid any NCIS associated vehicle when it was going at these speeds or not? On the one hand, it meant he didn't have to worry about an over-attentive rookie pulling him over for reckless driving. On the other, it meant he had to thank Gibbs and Ziva for their insane driving to and from critical crime scenes. It'd taken a good three years to get the local cops attuned to the erratic driving styles of Tony's boss and partner, but they were used to it now. They never got pulled over unless they weren't in an official NCIS vehicle.

But being grateful meant he'd have to acknowledge the tense woman in the passenger seat, and he wasn't prepared to do that. Not yet.

"Tony."

The senior field agent took another corner at close to forty miles an hour, skidding briefly before he got the car back under control. Ziva didn't say a word, watching him with dark eyes.

He thought she had dropped it, until he was forced to stop at a red light, and she spoke quietly.

"It was not your fault."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles going white.

"If she dies, it will be."

The light turned green. Tony hit the gas in the manner of the best NASCAR drivers of all time and was fifty feet beyond the light by the time the next car had gotten to the other side of the intersection.

"She would have been a target even without your involvement."

He really did not need another lecture about Black Ops 101 from his team's resident expert. He already knew Jeanne would have been a target anyway. She was the daughter of the largest overseas arms dealer on the _planet. _Of course she was a target.

That didn't mean he wasn't responsible for this attack, though. He'd forgotten Jeanne wasn't just his girlfriend. She was his target, his contact to get at the Frog. She was an arms dealer's daughter. He should have known she could be a potential target. He should have been more alert. He shouldn't have fallen into a pattern.

There were a lot of things he shouldn't have done.

"Will she answer the door?"

Tony's mouth quirked into a pained smile at Ziva's tactic withdrawal from their previous line of conversation. Taking the final turn into the apartment building's parking lot, he answered her, finally looking over at his partner.

"Doesn't matter. I have a key."

Ziva's face betrayed none of her emotions, as was common when she entered a potentially volatile situation. Her calm exterior was a stark contrast to Tony's frantic state-of-mind.

This confrontation would be even worse than it was already going to be if he didn't get a grip on himself. Tony shut the car off with a sharp turn of the key, pulling it out of the ignition and pocketing it as he exited the car.

He breathed deeply of the crisp air and locked away his tumbling emotions in a small box in the very back corner of his mind.

He couldn't afford to rush into Jeanne's apartment like a man possessed. He had to be professional. He'd already hurt her enough. He had to give her distance. He had to give her some of her dignity back. Ziva could deal with Jeanne once they were inside. The former Mossad agent might not be very polite, but she would be professional. And Ziva wouldn't cause more conflicting emotions within Jeanne, the way Tony knew he would if he attempted to initiate contact with her, even if it was to protect her from any more potential assassination attempts.

After all he had done to her in the past several months, letting her determine how much contact she wanted with him was the least he could do.


	2. What's Best for Him

A/N: I can hear the plot-bunnies cackling in glee as they run away with my nice, neat little missing scene expansion and blow it all out of proportion. _Completely _unfair. I have other stories that I can work on too, you know, you demented plot-bunnies!!

Oh well...I knew this would likely happen anyway. Last time I tried to illustrate a missing moment I ended up with a ten chapter long fic. Witness my terrible inability to be concise. Hopefully for my sanity - and my loyal readers of my _other _chaptered stories who are probably wondering what happened and why I suddenly jumped into a new fandom - this one won't become _that _out of proportion to what I'd originally intended, but we all know what happens to the best laid plans of mice and men...

Anyway, enjoy and review, people! Feedback is a wonderful thing!

--

_You should have known better than to fall in love with her. It would have ended badly even if she had not been targeted._

Ziva wanted to say it, but one look at Tony's anguished expression was enough to keep her mouth closed. She silently led the way into the building, hoping to give her partner those few extra moments to pull himself together.

No matter how infuriating he was at times, he was her partner and she cared for him. She would watch his back. Pushing the door open, she headed for the reception desk, reaching into her pocket for her NCIS badge.

"Fourth floor, third on the left from the elevator," Tony surprised her by muttering, too quietly for anyone but her to hear. Ziva corrected her course from the receptionist to the elevators without commenting, however.

As the doors slid closed, she glanced to the side at her partner. He didn't look any more composed than he had in the parking lot. His anguish was still clear to her eyes. Turning her gaze back towards the metal doors in front of her, she murmured quietly to him.

"You must control your expression, if you do not want her to see what you feel at this moment."

Tony stiffened beside her and a mask slapped down over his features as he shifted from an emotionally exhausted man to a professional senior field agent. The only remaining signs that he was not in top form were the faint pain lines around his eyes and the nearly rigid posture he had affected – a posture he only ever assumed, the Mossad liaison had learned, to hide his exhaustion from the rest of his team. Ziva tried not to sigh. It was for the best that he appeared professional in their coming confrontation with La Grenouille's daughter, but she couldn't help but think that continually putting off his reactions was going to do him more harm than good.

He'd been undercover for months. He needed time to process those events and come to terms with himself again, especially since his operation had ended on such a disastrous note.

Only, it hadn't ended yet, had it? Jeanne Benoit was still a potential target and she and Tony were the best qualified agents to protect the girl while their teammates determined if Jeanne was likely to become an assassin's target again. They couldn't give Tony the time he needed to come to terms with himself and his feelings. Not without needlessly endangering the girl's life even more than it already had been.

"The key?" Ziva asked levelly as the elevator slowed. Tony fumbled it out of his pocket, but didn't pass it over.

"I've got it."

He led the way out of the elevator and down to the unassuming door that led to Jeanne's apartment. Ziva kept close behind him, not commenting on his sudden assumption of the lead in this confrontation. It wasn't her place to question his abilities. Not at this moment.

Later, after they had secured La Grenouille's daughter, she would confront him. She knew him too well. If someone did not, he would bury his reactions and his feelings. And that would help no one, least of all Tony.

_What did you ask of him, Director? For such a simple assignment to produce such anguish in him…_

Ziva shook the stray thought out of her head, knowing her speculations had to wait until she had secured her charge. She scanned the hallway for any suspicious persons as Tony knocked sharply on the door, calling out "Jeanne?" even as he turned the key in the lock, granting them access to the apartment.

The faint sound of suppressed sobs was not a promising beginning to this confrontation.

--

Abby sighed heavily as she stared listlessly at her computer screen, absently swinging back and forth in her rolling chair, one hand propping her head on her desk. It had been a long day.

A long weekend.

First being called back to the office for the Director's special assignment, staying up waiting for the fingerprint match until she had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion, using Bert as a pillow. Then the entire mess with Tony and believing he had died and then finding out that he wasn't dead but he was still missing and then she heard about Kort showing up and Tony's confrontation with him and she had been so happy to see him alive and only a little bruised but he'd looked so sad and drawn and he just wasn't _Tony _like that…

Not even a Caff-Pow would restore her normal bubbly energy levels at this point. She had run the gambit from grieving to celebration in little less than twenty-four hours and her body was still paying the price for such turmoil. Not to mention forcing herself to work at her usual level through the pain of believing Tony was dead and then having to restrain her excitement to concentrate when Ducky declared the body in Autopsy _wasn't_ Tony.

She was a scientist. She knew exactly how the human body responded to extreme stress and she also knew aggravating her already taxed system with massive doses of caffeine would be a bad idea.

Besides, what she really needed was-

"Abby?"

At Tim's voice, Abby blinked and forced herself to wave at him through the open door to the part of her lab that served as her office. "Right here, McGee."

Her favorite tech geek agent made his way towards her carefully, balancing two boxes of what looked like take-out from a local restaurant and two water bottles from the vending machines. Abby blinked as he set his load down on her desk and pointed sternly at the left take-out box.

"Eat. Abby, you've been running on nothing but Caff-Pows for the past twelve hours, at least. You need actual food."

Abby smiled up at Tim and opened her box, inhaling the scent of spiced beef and fried rice. Not her first choice of meal, but the local Chinese place had good food and Tim had even bothered to order her an extra eggroll.

"Thanks, McGee."

The agent smiled at her as he commandeered another rolling chair from her lab to sit opposite her at the desk. "I figured you hadn't bothered to leave your lab yet, and I was hungry too. It wasn't a problem to get you something to eat as well."

"No, McGee, not for the food." Abby laughed softly. "For looking out for me. The food's nice and all, but it's sweeter that you cared enough to make sure I got more protein in me than granola bars from the snack machines."

Tim blushed slightly, and Abby grinned as she applied herself to her food. They ate in companionable silence for several moments, simply relishing the chance to relax and do nothing, after the hectic pace with which they had started the day.

Munching on the last of her eggroll, Abby looked up at Tim, who was finishing off the last of his own fried rice. "Hey, McGee?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled around his utensils, raising his eyebrows in question at her.

"You think Tony really loves her?" At Tim's slightly confused expression, Abby rushed on. "La Grenouille's daughter I mean. Jeanne? Do you think Tony actually loves her?"

Tim set his food back down on her desk, contemplating her question. Abby watched his face intently as he thought, but for once, she was unable to follow his thought process by watching his expressive features. That was unusual. They worked together on the technical aspects of cases so often they could more often than not complete each other's sentences. Not being able to anticipate what he thought made Abby feel a little uneasy.

"I think…I think he really does, Abby." Tim's voice was quiet and Abby leaned forward to hear him better. He seemed to realize how quietly he had answered her and lifted his head a little so he was speaking to her instead of the desk. "After he reported to the Director and Gibbs…Abs, I've never seen him look so haunted. He tried to hide it, but he's too tired right now to put much thought into it." Abby frowned. A Tony without his ability to put up a smiling mask was a hurt Tony indeed. This wasn't good. "He tried calling the hospital where she works, and he almost broke his phone when Ziva told him she'd called in for some personal time and hadn't said when she'd be back." Tim shook his head sadly. "Abby, he loves her, and I don't understand why." Abby could sympathize with his confusion. Tony was an expert at undercover operations. He knew better than to get attached to his targets. He _especially_ knew better than to fall in love with one.

It made no sense.

And then it clicked in her brain. Abby squealed with the sudden revelation, pushing away from her desk in excitement and nearly sending her chair tumbling backwards. The Goth lab specialist managed to send the chair into spins in lieu of falling over, shouting as she spun.

"That's what he meant! That's why he asked me about the moas!"

"The what?"

Abby spun her chair back around to face Tim, her eyes sparkling with realization.

"The Mother of All Secrets, McGee! Tony asked me about secrets a couple months ago…kept talking about them and what you do if you had to lie to someone you really cared about and…and that's what he was talking about! He really does love Jeanne!"

The implications hit her suddenly, and Abby grabbed her desk to help still her chair, planting her feet on the floor as an added deterrent. The excitement slowly drained out of her as she calculated the amount of time that had passed since she had started noticing the "new" Tony. The one that didn't flirt with every pretty girl he saw, and the one that seemed suddenly to be acting his age instead of like an overgrown teenager.

"He's been in love with her for _months…"_ she breathed, not sure if this was romantic or not and leaning rather heavily in the direction of the entire situation being a ripped-off modern day version of a twisted _Romeo and Juliet_.

Tim didn't need much prompting to follow her train of thought. He mentally reviewed his own catalogue of the senior field agent's odd behavior over the past six months and rapidly came to the same conclusion.

"This isn't good," he moaned, nearly as pale as he had been when he had seen Tony's car explode.

Abby slowly shook her head, not disagreeing with him in the slightest, but in too much shock to do much more than mutely deny her own observations. "What do we do now?" she whispered, watching Tim with wide eyes. Her friend shook his head sharply, as if shaking off his disbelief. His mouth firmed into a thin line and his entire expression radiated determination. Abby felt her own confidence rising to meet his.

"We help him, Abby. Whatever he needs, we have to be there for him."

"Yeah," Abby mused quietly. She straightened her shoulders and threw her head back at a defiant angle, as if daring the world to try and stop her. "So, McGee, we need a game plan." She planted her elbows on her desk and leaned forward. "Ziva and Tony will bring her back here. What do we need to have in place before they get back?"

Tim's expression morphed into a slow smile. They hadn't been allowed into the majority of Tony's undercover operation, and so their teammate had been without backup for the larger part of six months.

That was going to end today.


	3. Losing her Temper

A/N: If it's not one thing, it's another. Either the plot-bunnies run away with my story cackling maddly as they alter it beyound recognition or the characters themselves gang up on me and expand a chapter beyond my original intentions or twist it into a new direction. *sighs* I suppose I have to deal with it. But I'm putting out bunny-traps! I really don't need more of those stupid bunnies hopping up and down and waving shiny new story ideas in front of my face. *shakes fist at bunnies* Take a number and be quiet or go away, already!

Anyway...yeah. Tell me what you guys think via that review button down there. You know you want to...

--

Jeanne didn't know how long she sat crying and staring at her shattered pictures. She didn't know how long she had been sitting on her floor amid the fragments, trying to understand why her life had suddenly turned upside down.

It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours, but she slowly wound down from her crying fit, only occasionally letting a sob out as she gently scooped the broken glass into a small pile on her bedroom floor. She tugged the pictures out of their shattered frames, and placed them atop the bookshelf once more, to ensure they were not stepped on. The wooden frames, slightly cracked, but unbroken, she left on the floor.

Swiping at the tears on her face, Jeanne hiccuped and shook her head vigorously, as if the motion would shake away the turmoil of the day.

"I should clean that up…" she whispered to her empty apartment. The young woman headed for her hallway closet, where she stored her cleaning supplies. She refused to look to either side as she moved through her apartment, afraid of seeing another lie captured on film.

She needn't have bothered being so cautious. The lies followed her to the closet anyway.

To reach her dustpan and broom, she had to shuffle her laundry baskets aside. They were made of a material Jeanne couldn't identify, some type of plastic, and were far more durable than the ones she had started with when she moved out on her own.

"_Honestly, you're a doctor!! Shouldn't you be able to afford better things than this? And I should be getting you more romantic gifts than _laundry baskets_, Jeanne. I should be taking you out for an expensive, Italian meal or something similarly posh!"_

"'_Posh'? Are you serious? And besides, my laundry baskets weren't that bad…"_

"_It creaked when I kicked it the other morning on my way to the bathroom! They were definitely past the expiration date."_

"_Laundry baskets don't have expiration dates, Tony!"_

"_Oh, these do! Trust me."_

Jeanne's hand clenched on the topmost basket as fresh tears surged to her eyes. Tony had been so adamant about the new baskets, she hadn't had the heart to refuse them.

"Why am I being so stupid?" she growled to herself, angrily brushing away the tears. But no matter how quickly she wiped them away, more always seemed ready to jump in. "This is…just…i-it's not right!"

Sobs shook her again, but this time Jeanne was able to control them to an extent. Her neighbors had probably had quite enough of her hysterics today. Jeanne's hand unconsciously ran back and forth along the edge of the laundry basket, as if trying to recapture something she had lost.

She stood there for some five minutes before she heard the knock on her door. One hand flew to her mouth as a voice followed almost immediately after it, and the sound of her door clicking open came hard on the voice's heels.

_I gave him a key._ Jeanne's half-stunned mind groaned.

"Jeanne?" came the call again. She couldn't stop the sob that came out, and two sets of footsteps sounded on the carpet of her main room, heading her way.

"Are you…alright?"

His voice was hesitant as it had never been before. Jeanne stood frozen in front of her closet, one hand on her laundry basket and the other over her mouth, sobs finally stilled. Her confusion and hurt started to seep away, replaced by a growing feeling of anger.

_How dare he? How dare he come here…after what he did!? And ask me if I'm alright?!? He has no right!!_

Jeanne could feel the heat rising in her face, but no angry flush would be distinguishable from the splotches her crying fits had already marked upon her cheeks.

Maybe that was why Tony didn't even duck the basket as it flew at his head as she screamed at him.

"Get OUT of my apartment!!"

--

Well, a laundry basket straight to the forehead wasn't the first thing he'd been expecting, but it could hardly be said he didn't deserve it. Absently rubbing the new ache, Tony felt his professional mask slip ever so slightly before he was able to slam it back up.

Jeanne looked horrible.

Her hair was a tangled mess. Her clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, and for some inexplicable reason, Tony could see small shards of glass caught in her scrub pants. Tear-tracks glistened on her red-splotched cheeks, evidence of long crying sessions. Her eyes were blood-shot; the result of her crying combined with her exhausting shift at the hospital. She seemed to be standing through force of will alone.

None of that had impaired her aim or her lungs.

"Jeanne…" he started, before quickly backtracking at the almost tangible rage he saw flare in her eyes. "Ms. Benoit, I know I'm the last person you want to see right now, but my partner and I need to speak with you."

"I have _nothing _to say to you, _Agent_ Dinozzo! Get _out _of my apartment!!!"

It was becoming harder and harder to keep up his professional mask. He was having to sit on the impulse to run to Jeanne and hold her tightly, apologizing for every insensitive thing he had ever done to her, up to and including deceiving her in the first place. Tony felt his mask slipping again, and knew his face was starting to show his anguish. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, though, he felt a hand on his arm. Looking down, he saw Ziva tilt her head backwards ever so slightly. Mouth tight, he stepped back and let her take the lead again.

"Ms. Benoit? I am Officer Ziva David." Ziva smoothly started, deftly stepping closer to the furious woman, blocking most of her view of Tony. "Perhaps we could sit and talk? We have some things to discuss with you."

Tony waited with baited breath. From the narrowed eyes, Jeanne didn't seem to be taking any better to Ziva's attempts to calm her down than she had to Tony's.

"I told your partner already, Officer David, I have _nothing_ to say to you. Leave now."

"I am sorry, Ms. Benoit, but that is not possible. Your life is in danger. We must speak with you."

Jeanne blinked and her anger melted slightly, confusion creeping in. "My life? Why should my life be in danger?"

"The bomb in Agent Dinozzo's car was not meant for him, nor for your father. It was meant for you."

Jeanne paled and wobbled slightly. "Me?" she asked faintly. "Why me? What have I done?"

"Let us sit, and I will tell you," Ziva said matter-of-factly. She shot a look at Tony over her shoulder, and he took the hint, backing out of the doorway and into the kitchen, out of Jeanne's line of sight. "You are safe right now, Ms. Benoit." Ziva continued, carefully guiding the stunned woman into the front room. "You are protected. It's safe here."

"I don't understand…"

Jeanne's voice faded into the background and Tony leaned against the kitchen doorway, heartbroken.

He'd hoped she wouldn't be so affected by his deceptions. He'd hoped she would pull through and move on with her life. He'd hoped…

Who was he kidding?

He hadn't wanted her to hurt, but he hadn't wanted her to _not_ hurt either. Because that would mean she had never really loved him and he couldn't stand the thought of Jeanne not loving him.

A disgusted sneer crossed his face. "God, DiNozzo, how low can you get?" he snarled at himself. "It wasn't enough you seduced her and lied to her? Now you want her to spend the rest of her life in pain because she can't stop loving you?"

He slowly slid down the wall, shaking slightly.

What was wrong with him?

He wanted to apologize to Jeanne, but his guilt choked him every time he attempted it.

He wanted her to be able to move on with her life, but he didn't want her to stop loving him.

He wanted to be near her, but the best thing for her was for him to keep his distance.

Jeanne had every right to hate him.

He was truly a bastard.

--

Ziva tried very hard to control her impatience with the woman before her. Jeanne Benoit had just had her world turned upside down. Her perfect, neat little world where the worst thing she had to deal with was losing a patient had imploded in front of her very eyes. There was every reason to feel sorry for her and no reason to be so frustrated.

But Jeanne was an assignment, nothing more and nothing less. Tony was her partner and he needed her support right now.

Her inability to satisfy both obligations, both needs, was making her rather more short-tempered than usual.

"But…why would anyone want to kill me?"

"You are the daughter of an international arms dealer."

Jeanne flinched away from her and Ziva sighed internally. That could have been said with far more tact. But it was the truth and no amount of self-denial would change it.

_Tony loves this woman, remember that. He would not want you to inflict more hurt upon her._ Ziva reminded herself. She had to at least try to be more sensitive. For Tony's sake.

"It is not your fault. There will always be men and women who seek to gain through violence."

"They lied to me."

Ziva very carefully said nothing, counting to ten in Hebrew, and then in French and Turkish when her temper still seemed inclined to get the better of her.

"Yes, they did."

Jeanne regarded her with wary and hurt eyes, withdrawing slightly. Ziva sighed. Tact was not and had never been her strong suit.

"You don't understand," Jeanne said. "They lied-"

"Tony was undercover," Ziva said curtly, restraining the snap that wanted to express itself in her voice. "He was unable to tell you the truth without compromising his cover. Your father was trying to protect you by concealing his true occupation. You can accept those facts, or you cannot." The arms dealer's daughter stared at her, eyes wide. Ziva continued on relentlessly. "Your father is attempting to retire. Certain people do not wish this and so you have become a target. My partner and I have been assigned to protect you, and we shall."

"I never wanted any of this."

Ziva felt some of her annoyance melt as she saw Jeanne's weary resignation. The other woman already knew everything Ziva had told her. She had not wanted to face it tonight. Perhaps not for a long time, not until she had obtained some distance from the pain today had brought her.

Time would not permit her that luxury, just as it would not permit Tony the luxury of dealing with his conflicting emotions.

"No one wanted this to happen," Ziva murmured, feeling the rest of her annoyance diminish to manageable levels as she saw – allowed herself to see – the true anguish in the other woman's face. "But it has happened. None of us can change that."

"…I know that."

Jeanne was silent now, and Ziva allowed her a moment to think. When the other woman looked back to her, she was composed once again.

"So what happens now?"

"You will be escorted back to NCIS headquarters. You will be guarded at all times. An appropriate safe house will be found for you while the threat is dealt with. You will need an overnight bag."

"I…I have one mostly packed already. I was…was going to leave for a while. To get away." Jeanne said haltingly, looking vaguely disturbed at how close she had come to running off without any protection while there was a target on her back. Ziva carefully kept her own reaction concealed. She had known it was likely Jeanne wouldn't want to stay in the D.C. area, but she had not anticipated just how quickly the woman would move. They had truly arrived just in time to prevent disaster.

She did not think she would tell Tony that unless he figured it out for himself.

"Finish your packing, then," was all she said aloud, standing. Jeanne stood as well, still mostly in shock.

"I need to clean up the glass…"

"I will do so." Ziva said. "Where is it?"

"My bedroom. I broke a couple picture frames."

Picture frames? A drinking glass might have been understandable, but picture frames? But once more, all she said aloud was, "The dustpan and broom are in your closet?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Finish packing," Ziva reiterated, using one hand to turn the woman by her shoulder, directing her back towards the interior of the apartment and her bedroom. "I will clean the glass."

Jeanne left without a word and Ziva allowed her shoulders to slump slightly as she returned to the hallway.

The laundry basket Jeanne had thrown at Tony leaned forlornly against the wall it rolled to a stop by. Ziva sighed as she recalled the furious expression on Jeanne's face upon seeing Tony and her partner's sudden paleness as he took in her disheveled appearance and tear-streaked face.

This was going to be an awkward drive back to NCIS headquarters.


End file.
